Don’t Make Me Turn This Life Around by Pagán, Camille (top novels of all time txt) 📗

“Do you think that’s what I’m doing?” I said, but just hearing myself say it made me realize that of course he did, and Isa probably did, too. “Never mind,” I said quickly. “I’ll try to work on it.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he said. “Maybe complex wasn’t the right word.”

I glanced back at what was left of the restaurant. “You didn’t hurt my feelings.” Not that much, at least. “It’s a good reminder.”

“Okay. Let’s go eat before the girls start threatening to revolt.” He shot me a small smile, and I found myself momentarily wondering if it was just to appease me. But as we walked back to the Jeep, he added in a low voice, “If it helps, they’re driving me crazy. This is the trip of a lifetime. I wish they’d act like it.”

Was it the trip of a lifetime, though? I was beginning to wonder. The girls groused at every turn, and now Shiloh had admitted they were getting to him. Meanwhile, I couldn’t seem to keep my spirits afloat. Maybe because I’d been counting on the island to do that, even as I kept running smack dab into examples of how it—like me—had changed.

“Girls,” said Shiloh when we got into the Jeep, “I shouldn’t need to tell you this, but for the love of all that’s good and holy, can you please stop complaining and try to enjoy yourselves?”

“Fine,” said Charlotte, staring out the window.

“Sure, but I’m starving. What are we going to do now?” said Isa.

I rummaged through my bag and found a couple of protein bars. I usually saved them for Charlotte—since her diagnosis, I was never without bars and some kind of fast-acting glucose. But Shiloh’s comment about giving Isa a complex was still at the top of my thoughts, so I handed one to each girl.

“Aren’t these for Charlotte?” said Isa, eyeing it suspiciously.

“And you,” I chirped.

“Huh,” she said, ripping open the wrapper. She took a bite and made a face. “Gross. This tastes like chocolate-flavored sawdust.”

“Told you,” muttered Charlotte.

“You have it,” said Isa, shoving the bar at her.

“Yeah, no,” said Charlotte. “Give it to Mom.”

I held my hand out and suppressed a sigh; no good deed went unpunished.

“Speaking of food, can we talk about lunch?” said Shiloh. “Since we’re a lot closer to Isabela Segunda than Esperanza, I’m going to head that way and see what’s available. Sound good?”

“Sure,” I said, crossing my fingers that we wouldn’t end up at yet another place that had been destroyed.

We found a colorful Mexican restaurant, but it was closed for the afternoon. Charlotte suggested we try a fried-food cart, but her diabetes guide didn’t have carb counts for street food, so that was out, too. I was steeling myself for a twin-sized freak-out when Shiloh pulled up in front of a restaurant down the block from the marina. It was painted bright purple and had seen better days, but it looked over the water, and by that point, almost anything that was open would do.

We parked and went inside, where a grizzled-looking bartender told us to seat ourselves. The sky had been light gray just minutes earlier, but by the time we’d taken a four top near the balcony, charcoal-colored clouds were rolling in from the direction of the mainland.

“That doesn’t look great,” said Shiloh.

It didn’t, but did we really have to play I Spy with My Pessimistic Eye? “Maybe we can try to eat quickly,” I suggested. We had some food at the guesthouse, but nothing substantial enough to call a meal.

“I think we’re going to have to try,” said Shiloh. “How about I order a bunch of burgers at the bar, so I can settle the tab right away, and then we head back as soon as we’re done?”

“Good plan,” I said, ignoring the look of skepticism that both girls were wearing.

They pulled out their phones as soon as he left, and maybe because I knew Isa, at least, was on the verge of getting hangry, I let them be. By the time Shiloh had returned, the sky was dark gray. I didn’t need a degree in atmospheric science to know we were about to get stuck in a massive storm.

Sure enough: no sooner had we bitten into our burgers than the sky began dumping rain.

“Yikes—this is a monsoon,” said Charlotte, pointing at the street. The restaurant, like much of the island, was on a hill, and water was rushing down the street from gutter to gutter like a waterslide.

Shiloh was staring at his phone, and though I’d been trying not to think about it, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he was going to check his voicemail to see what the person who’d called him earlier had to say. But then he glanced up at me. “It’s a flash flood.”

Don’t panic, I told myself. “What about the bay tour?” I said. I was coming to terms with our vacation not being the idyllic getaway I’d envisioned, and that so far, my cancerversary had been chock full of disappointments. But if I could just make it to the bioluminescent bay again, none of that would matter quite as much.

The girls were both staring at me with big eyes. “Are we going to be okay?” asked Isa.

“Is there going to be another hurricane?” said Charlotte, gnawing on a cuticle.

“We don’t know,” said Shiloh, just as I said, “No.”

“Great,” they said in unison.

“Listen, you two, there’s nothing to worry about,” I assured them. “It can’t rain all day.” But as I looked out at the dark clouds rolling in over the ocean, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d just jinxed us all.

To my surprise, it stopped raining a few minutes after we finished eating. We decided to head back to the guesthouse so Shiloh could take a nap and the girls could have some downtime (read: play on their phones). After everyone was settled I went out to the patio, where Milagros was lounging